‘You must be joking!’ says Satan, his eyes widening as he blows smoke through his nose.
A good five kilometres! That’s about the length of the drive from the Höfðabakki Bridge all the way to Snorrabraut in the west of Reykjavík. Satan is dizzied by the thought of water so deep and dark that it may as well be bottomless. How long would it take a human body to sink a good 5000 metres? Six hours? Twelve? A full twenty-four? Or would the enormous pressure have turned it into pàté halfway down?
‘If we don’t go now,’ says Sæli, slapping the side of the Zodiac, ‘we’ll never go.’
‘All together now!’ says the captain and grabs one of the Zodiac’s handles. ‘Let’s get this dinghy afloat.’
‘Fuck it!’ says Satan and sticks his cigarette in his mouth before also grabbing a handle. ‘I’ll help you launch this junk but I’m staying on the ship, thank you very much. This wading pool is going to sink and I don’t plan to sink with it. No fucking way am I going to bob around in the water for days on end just to be smelled out and eaten by a shark. No way!’
‘Up to you,’ says the captain with a sigh as they lift the boat and head for the steps leading down to the weather deck.
‘There aren’t any sharks around here,’ says Sæli. ‘Are there?’
31°W 8°S
Desert upon desert as far as his distorted consciousness can reach; a burning hot desert, yellow and deadly…
The sun is shining on Jónas’s sickly face, salty sweat runs into his eyes, there’s nothing to be seen but the flaming sand and dancing mirages in the distance…
He’s walking and walking but can’t feel his legs…
Maybe he’s on horseback?
He doesn’t know where he’s going but he carries on, he has to carry on, he can’t do anything but carry on, gliding as if in a dream…
Maybe he’s dreaming?
Buzzing heat that paralyses his lungs, scratches his flesh and forces its way into his rotting body, which glows like the thread in a lightbulb…
When he’s just about to give up…
Give up? He has no choice. He just is until he stops being.
…and die…
Dying’s not so bad. Not when life is desert fire. Hopefully death is cold and crisp, endless depths of blue water.
…he catches sight of something that sticks up out of the soaring mirage fires…
Intersecting lines…
A house!
He remembers the house in Mosfellsbær.
There’s a house up ahead, and it’s slowly coming closer, and little by little becoming clearer…
Maybe it’s a roadside café?
Water, water – he must have water…
The heat is overwhelming and the sun paralysing. It sucks away life like a fly sucking blood…
But there are people coming, people coming out of the mists! Two men coming to help him…
Somewhere a door opens, there are voices and…
‘Water!’
His eyes are full of hot seawater and his legs drag along the hard sand. They hold him up and carry him towards the house, which throws a triangular shadow on the sand…
Shade!
He must have water! His head is full of red fire, the sun has bored a hole in his forehead and lights up the dark…
The house, the house…
The house isn’t a house but an iron pyramid that lists to one side like…
A rusty pyramid that…
That isn’t a pyramid but the bow of a freighter that’s sticking up like…
‘NO, NO, NO! NOT THE SHIP!’
He tries to resist but the men won’t let him go. He looks closer and sees that they aren’t men – not living men…
Two skeletons wearing beige suits drag him to the altar of the iron god that towers over them like a man-made mountain and stares out at the desert with empty, square eyes…
31°W 8°S
The captain is on board the Zodiac, which is roped to the starboard side of the ship. Sæli and Satan are holding the outboard motor out to him over the railing.
‘Don’t drop it in the water, skipper,’ says Satan as he lets go of the motor. Guðmundur crawls to the back of the boat holding the motor as if it were a baby, and attaches it to the platform in the stern. The others toss twenty-five Coke bottles on board: twenty containing petrol, five water.
‘That is a ticking time bomb, lads,’ says Satan, who’s bare to the waist, tanned and shiny with sweat.
‘Do you need help?’ Sæli calls out to the captain.
‘You’re welcome to call it off and stay on the ship with me,’ says Satan and he lights a cigarette.
‘No, it’s all right,’ says the captain, wiping the sweat from his forehead. ‘Why don’t you just jump aboard?’
‘What about the engineer?’ asks Satan, scratching the bandage above his left ear as he blows out blue smoke. The bandage is dirty and soaked with sweat, which is dissolving the dried blood.
‘I’d forgotten all about Stoker!’ says Guðmundur as he tosses the bottles of petrol into the compartment at the bow of the Zodiac. ‘What’s he thinking of, the fool?’
‘Guys!’ says Satan, shading his eyes with his left hand. ‘Do you see what I see?’
They all stare out to sea, where the waves glisten like mountains of silver in the strong sunlight.
‘Is that…?’ mutters Sæli, squinting.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ says the captain, standing up in the Zodiac.
About a hundred metres south of the ship is the big lifeboat, rocking to and fro as it approaches.
‘Lads, jump aboard!’ says Guðmundur as he tugs on the mooring line to pull the Zodiac up to the railing. ‘We should head out before the lifeboat runs into the ship.’
‘Are you crazy?’ says Satan, tossing his cigarette overboard. ‘You’re not going anywhere in this inner tube when we can use that big one! I’ll come with you in that one.’
‘We have no idea what condition it’s in!’ says the captain, his voice sharp. We leave now – THAT’S AN ORDER!’
‘How about the engineer?’ says Satan, picking up a coil of rope from the deck. ‘Are you going to leave him behind?’
‘ALL ABOARD!’ screams Guðmundur, clearly quite frantic. ‘If we don’t leave now we all die! Can you understand that? If you don’t jump on board I’ll go ashore alone!’
Skuggi is running back and forth on the weather deck, looking from the captain to Satan and whining constantly.
‘Gummi? Gummi?’ says Sæli, hesitantly. ‘He’s right, we should…’
The captain starts the engine and begins to loosen the mooring ropes.
‘YOU GET ON BOARD, BOY! I DON’T CARE WHAT—’
‘You shut your bloody mouth, motherfucker!’ Satan screams at Guðmundur, who goes silent and stares at the seaman, a hysterical gleam in his eyes. ‘You’re not leaving anyone behind and nobody’s going anywhere in that inner tube of yours!’
‘You…’ The captain clenches his pale fists and closes his mouth in mid sentence to control his trembling lips.
‘I CAN’T SWIM, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!’ shouts Satan, expanding his chest muscles like a wild animal preparing to attack.
‘Look! It’s Jónas!’ says Sæli, pointing at the lifeboat, which is now only ten metres from the ship.
The ghostly face of the second mate can be seen through the window off and on. They can see no sign that he’s conscious.
‘Is he dead?’ asks Satan, breathing deeply through his nose.
‘I can’t see,’ says Sæli.
‘He’s going to hit the Zodiac! I knew it!’ says the captain, escaping onto the weather deck and abandoning the boat. ‘Don’t let him hit the Zodiac!’